


Fools in the Shower

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Neighbors, Dean singing, Depressed Castiel, Depression, First Meetings, Homeless Castiel, Led Zeppelin - Freeform, M/M, Neighbors, Past Castiel/April Kelly, Showers, Singing in Shower, cursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 17:57:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12636225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: “Uh… yeah,” he says, hand snaking to the back of his neck. He feels like he’s back in the country again, on his Dad’s farm, fending off mosquitos. “You like Zeppelin?”‘You like Zeppelin?’! What kind of f**king idiot— “I do now.”Dean opens and closes his mouth as he feels a blush find his face. “Um… cool. Cool, right on. So you’re my neighbor?”“Cas,” he introduces.Dean accepts the hand offered to him. “Dean,” he says. “Sorry my set got cut short. I’m kinda clumsy.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I was scrolling through OTP prompts to get inspired and I found this and couldn't resist:
> 
> https://i.pinimg.com/236x/76/68/45/766845e4b5bb058fa4aa06eb1d67ffb2--p-america-canada-canada.jpg
> 
>  
> 
> Title named after the song Dean sings, "Fools in the Rain" by Led Zeppelin.

With a groan, Cas raises himself from another monotonous day of existence.

His steps are sticky with grogginess. His pants are baggy, like his red hoodie that’s sticky with something else entirely. He pinches the part of the fabric with the stain and brings it to his nose, instantly recoiling when more than the smell of puke hits his nostrils: The PB&J comes rushing back to him like toilet water after a flush. Nothing’s disappointed him more than that PB&J. (Then again, he found a guy named Metatron who claimed to be an angel _living_ in the dumpster he found it in, so he wasn’t sure what to expect.)

He shakes off that less than bittersweet memory and glances around the house. Gabe must be at the store. The guy’s up by seven every day; Cas wonders how he does it.

He shrugs, moving on. He really doesn’t feel like taking a shower—or like doing much of _anything,_ really. But if he smells half as bad as his hoodie, it’s probably for the best; that way when the garbage truck rolls around Wednesday, he’s not accidentally picked up.

His beard’s also in a pretty desperate state. He runs his long, calloused hands over it, closer resembling a grizzly bear pawing its face in a bathroom mirror. Sighing, he moves to the tub, spins the faucet, and starts lazily undressing.

Once the water’s a bearable enough temperature to stand under, he grabs the bar of soap on the top ledge. He takes his time just feeling the suds slip through his fingers: a metaphor for his life. Everything he holds slips through his grasp somehow.

It’s been 12 weeks. Twelve weeks since April kicked him out and left him to die on the streets.

Of course, every shelter in the area was conveniently full, so he was forced to move in with his older cousin, Gabe. He doesn’t mind Gabe… aside from his blatant insensitivity to Cas’s mental health and his filthy habit of leaving candy scattered around like an Oompa Lumpa luring every rodent within a five mile radius into his candy factory, that is. Cas just doesn’t like to depend on people. He’s 27; he should be married. He should be raising kids, or planning to have them, anyway. He should have his shit together in more than a duffel bag.

He steps closer to the spigot until he’s just a few inches away. He brings his hands to his face again, slowly running his fingers from the base of his jaw and over to meet the dip between his skull and the back of his neck. Droplets of water from his long eyelashes run down his cheeks and under his chin like a drainpipe after a monsoon as the shower keeps coming. He opens his mouth to breathe, interrupting the current. Soon, his lungs fill with the warmth and fullness he lacks from a cigarette—something he’s trying to kick.

_“Oh, baby_

_Well there's a light in your eye that keeps shining_

_Like a star that can't wait for night…”_

Cas snaps his head up. It’s faint, but he can still make out the words coming through the shower wall being sung by a man who he _could_ believe is an angel. His voice is low and carries a little rumble on the longer notes, like the purr of a sports engine from the ‘60s.

 

_“I hate to think I been blinded baby  
Why can't I see you tonight?”_

The man’s a little louder this time. Intrigued (and feeling slightly violated), Cas moves closer until his ear is aligned with the wall. He wonders who he’s singing to. If someone else is in the shower with him. If so, they’re undoubtedly blessed.

_“And the warmth of your smile starts a burning  
And the thrill of your touch give me fright…”_

An unfamiliar itch tugs on Cas’s lips. He doesn’t register it as a smile until he feels his chest go naturally warm by itself.

 _“And I'm shaking so much, really yearning_  
Why don't you show up and make it alright, yeah?  
It's alright, ri— **OW… FUCK! SHIT! GODDAMN IT!"**

The man must’ve dropped his shampoo, because a thud adds a little too much bass to his alto. Cas covers his mouth, holding back a laugh.

God, all these warm and fuzzies hitting him at once—it makes him a little dizzy, to be honest. He’s gotten so used to feeling nothing that it’s basically overwhelming to feel anything else.

He keeps listening for the man, but all he hears is what’s likely his feet stomping out of the shower before everything’s quiet again.

Cas washes up quickly and steps out, yanking his towel from the rack and tying it around his waist. He runs out of the bathroom and makes his way down the hall, to his bedroom.

“Cassie? What’s goin’ on?” comes Gabe’s voice from the doorway. “Are we fleeing the country or what?”

Cas keeps digging through his drawer like a prairie dog, not even noticing the mounds of clothes piling up behind him as he does so. “Not yet,” he says slightly out of breath and turning to Gabe with a grin, “but I will need to change my look.”

“What’re you so smiley about?” Gabe asks. “Not that I’m complaining, it’s nice to finally see that frown of yours fucked fifty ways from Sunday, but what’s the occasion?”

“The man, the one singing next door,” Cas explains, “I heard him when I was in the shower, he’s—”

Gabe cuts him off with a moan, “Oh yeah, _that_ fucker. He’s always singing some outdated white man rock balled at the top of his lungs. What was he singing this time?”

“I don’t know.” Cas finds his ripped jeans and slips them over his towel. “But I intend on finding out.”

 

 

 

Dean’s sitting down for dinner when a knock presents itself at his door. He drops his fork onto his plate and moves towards the entryway. He’s not expecting anyone aside from UPS with his new creeper.

He definitely doesn’t expect the most attractive man on the face of the planet to be standing behind it, either. His hair’s a mess, sticking out everywhere like a wet haystack, even his sideburns. His eyes are the kind of blue Elton John’s been singing about since ’82, laughing even with the rivulet of water from his hair running over his right eyelid. His wide pink lips resemble a grin that, alone, make Dean’s bowlegs want to buckle.

He’s a little shorter than Dean, but packing underneath that thin white t-shirt hugging his abs and showing off the start of a tattoo on his abdomen. Unlike his ripped jeans, which don’t do justice to those thick thighs.

“Um… hi,” he says awkwardly.

“Hi, um…” The man huffs a laugh, “This is gonna sound weird, but were you the guy singing a little bit ago?”

Dean blinks a few times, allowing his green, earthly eyes to be flooded by the ocean in the other man’s. “Uh… yeah,” he says, hand snaking to the back of his neck. He feels like he’s back in the country again, on his Dad’s farm, fending off mosquitos. “You like Zeppelin?”

 _‘You like Zeppelin?’!_ What kind of fucking idiot— “I do now.”

Dean opens and closes his mouth as he feels a blush find his face. “Um… cool. Cool, right on. So you’re my neighbor?”

“Cas,” he introduces.

Dean accepts the hand offered to him. “Dean,” he says. “Sorry my set got cut short. I’m kinda clumsy.”

Cas smirks. “No need to apologize. Actually, that’s what I came to tell you. Um…” He pauses and Dean’s heart pounds every second he uses forming his words. “I wanted to say thank you… I’ve been severely depressed these past few months and your voice was the first thing to make me smile. Even having the motivation to jump out of the shower and walk over here has been the most I’ve done in weeks.”

Dean’s mouth parts again, but this time it forms into a smile that prickles his stubble. “Um… thank you. I mean—you’re welcome, yeah. That’s… wow.”

“Yeah…” Cas waves his hand. “Anyway, I should probably head back—”

“Stay.”

Cas’s eyes blow wide. “What?”

“I just mean I have enough dinner for two,” Dean clarifies. “My boyfriend and I broke up a couple weeks ago so I’m still in the habit of making enough for two people.”

Dean takes the big, gummy smile crossing Cas’s face as a yes.

 


	2. Knock Knock Knockin' on My Shower Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you sure about this?” asks Dean, “I mean we won’t be giving him a heart attack or anything, right?”  
> “He’s thirty,” Cas reassures, “if he has a heart attack, it’s because of one too many butterscotch candies.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For demonicangelwingz. Not a flash forward like I was thinking, but it's still steamy enough to qualify. Perhaps I'll come back to this though and write another ficlet for an anniversary or celebration!
> 
>  
> 
> Song used: "Stop Dragging My Heart Around" by Stevie Nicks and Tom Petty.

“Are you sure about this?” asks Dean, “I mean we won’t be giving him a heart attack or anything, right?”

“He’s thirty,” Cas reassures, “if he has a heart attack, it’s because of one too many butterscotch candies.”

Dean nods—as best he can, anyway. Only then does Cas realize the situation he’s put himself in. He’s all down for scaring the shit out of Gabe, but at what cost to his personal space? The shower is the same size as Gabe’s, meaning it barely fits one person as is. Cas can feel the cold faucet digging between his legs. The shower head, which is more rusted than Gabe’s, hangs forebodingly above him, like an extra eye watching them—watching as Dean swallows his thirst and a stream of filtrated air hits Cas’s neck and watching Cas look up to Dean, scans his eyes like a barcode, his heart the machine, beeping wildly in his chest.

“I have to, um…” Dean tapers off, bending his arm at his elbow to point. His flannel rides up doing so, exposing a bit more of his lightly tanned and wiry forearm arm.

Cas shakes his head. “Right,” he says, pivoting a little to allow Dean to get around.

Once they’re both pressed against the front-facing shower wall, listening to the water running on the other side for confirmation, Cas starts in. He’s always been a Bach person, so he barely discovered the song over dinner after Dean introduced it to him, but fell in love with it almost instantly, memorizing the notes, the chord progression, the simple way two people come together to sing a song about their shared love woes:

“Baby you'll come knocking on my front door  
Same old line you used to use before  
I said ya, well, what am I supposed to do  
I didn't know what I was getting into…”

Cas turns to look at Dean as his queue to join in for the next verse, but only finds a gobsmacked look on his face. Cas bites back a smile at the silent compliment to keep singing:

“So you've had a little trouble in town  
Now you're keeping some demons down…”

Dean’s low, sultry voice mixed with Cas’s raspy one makes for a match in Heaven… if Heaven was in a shower. And if Heaven occasionally gets a heavy pound on its doors from a five foot eight man child. _“ **HEY! KNOCK IT OFF, YOU FUCKING LUNATIC!**  Don't think I don't hear you too, Cassie!!! You know shower sex is overrated, right?!”_

The next verse is the loudest, effectively drowning out Gabe’s yelling:

 **** _“_ Stop draggin' my,  
Stop draggin' my,  
Stop draggin' my heart around!”

A heavy thud resounds from the other side of the wall, followed by a slew of curse words. This time, Cas doesn’t hide his laugh, and neither does Dean. Nonetheless, they keep yelling, Cas, probably much like Dean, judging by the giant grin plastered on his face, finding therapy in the chorus.

Eventually though, they come down from their high and collapse against the wall, breathing heavy. Dean’s the first to look at Cas and Cas laughs once more, this time quieter as he catches his breath. The smile on Dean’s face, like a soap bar from pre-wet hands, starts to slip the longer he stares at Cas and Cas licks his lips, trying to salvage any moisture he can.

“You know,” he starts, “having rushed over here, I never did get to enjoy my shower.”

Dean nods. “Yeah… yeah, I didn’t either.”

Cas closes the distance for hesitancy, shoving Dean against the wall with one hand and pulling out the faucet with the other.  


End file.
